Rachel (22 page)

Rachel reached the well thoroughly spent. What little energy she’d had upon rising that morning had disappeared the moment she offered her maid to Jacob. Now she was faced with the task of breaking the news to Bilhah. Or perhaps Jacob would do that himself.

No. It was her place to give the girl to her husband. In doing so, Bilhah would forfeit the status of maid to become Jacob’s wife. A bonus for her. Rachel would have to find a new maidservant. The thought did not please her, not for lack of servants but for sharing Jacob’s time yet again.

How weary her life had become! She lowered the jar to the well and wept as it fell slowly to the depths. She felt its weight as it filled and feared she would not have the strength to raise it again. The sky lit now with the pinks of dawn. Dew still tickled her feet where the grasses touched over the edge of her sandals.

She hefted the jar over the well’s lip and sank onto the stone edge, looking toward the tents in the distance. She had no use for dew or sun today. She wanted only to curl onto her side and sleep, not caring if she woke again.
Jacob. Why has your God denied
us this?

She glanced heavenward, but the skies gave no answer. Of
course not. Adonai had chosen to bless her sister instead of her. Somehow she had been deemed unworthy. So now she must give another woman to her husband. Would she live with regret as Sarah once did?

She plopped the heavy jar onto her head and walked with weighted steps back to the camp. She met Bilhah just finishing the grinding and set the jar beside her in the hole meant to keep it from tipping.

“Come to my tent,” she said, glancing briefly at her maid. She moved on ahead, her mind churning with how best to word her request. No. It would not be a request. Bilhah was a slave who was about to become a wife. There was no choice on her part.

“Did you need something, mistress?” Bilhah stepped into the dark interior. Rachel had yet to roll up the sides and did not bother to light a lamp. Darkness suited what she was about to say.

“Yes, come here and sit down.”

Bilhah did as she was told, her expression quizzical. She folded her hands in her lap and waited while Rachel paced in front of her.

“There is no easy way to say this.” She stopped abruptly. “I am giving you to Jacob to wife so that you can bear me a son. The child will be mine. I will name him and bear him on my knees so that I can have a family through you.” She held Bilhah’s startled gaze.

The girl quickly looked down at her hands sitting idle in her lap, now upturned in supplication. But she did not protest. She glanced up and gave a slight nod. “When?” There was nothing else to be said, as Bilhah could not refuse.

“Tonight.” Rachel searched the girl’s face. “You are clean?”

She nodded. “Yes, mistress.”

“Good. Tonight then.” While she still had courage to follow through with this. “I will take you to his tent, and you will become his wife.” The thought twisted inside of her, but she did not show the girl her pain. “You may go now.”

Bilhah stood, but she did not leave. Instead, surprisingly, she stepped closer and laid a hand on Rachel’s arm. “I will pray that your God gives you a son either by me or by you or both.”

By me.
Rachel nodded. “Thank you.”

Bilhah left the tent, and Rachel went into her chamber and wept.

17

Jacob stood too long at the sheep pens that night, counting the sheep twice, half wishing one was missing. He preferred the thought of going out after it to what awaited him in his tent. He shook his head, forcing back a deep sigh. He looked at the deepening dusk, rubbed the back of his neck. Surely God was punishing him for his many sins. Why else would He have denied him the one thing he wanted most in life? He had not worked for Leah, did not want Rachel’s maid Bilhah. But the girl would be his whether he wanted her or not.

Most men would welcome the diversity of many women.

Jacob was not one of them.

He turned at the approach of a servant boy who would sleep with the flock this night. Memories of his own youth surfaced as he studied the boy’s awkward gait, the carefree way his arms swung at his sides as he whistled, mimicking the mournful cry of a dove. How quickly the freedom of childhood passed. His son Reuben was not yet three years old and already weaned. Soon his sons would be grown like olive plants sprung up. Would Rachel still be barren then?

The thought turned his stomach as he nodded to the servant boy and moved slowly toward his tent. He approached the fire where Rachel and Bilhah waited for him. He sat, accepting
the food Rachel placed before him, and ate in silence. Rachel refilled his cup several times, while Bilhah stood unmoving behind one of the smooth stone seats placed about the fire. When he finished, he stood. Rachel stepped forward with Bilhah beside her.

“You’re really going to do this?” He looked at Rachel until her gaze at last met his.

“Yes.” She took Bilhah’s hand and placed it in Jacob’s. “Here is your wife.”

Bilhah’s hand felt cold in his. He glanced at the girl, seeing fear in her eyes. His gaze did not linger as he sought Rachel’s again. “You are my wife.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked at him. “Yes, one of three.”

He would argue she was the only wife of his heart, but it would do nothing to change the misery and pain mingling in her expression. He glanced down again at Bilhah’s small hand in his and shook himself. Such a marriage required no formal feast. This was a slave wife, a concubine, and Rachel had sealed the bond with a word.

He glanced at Bilhah, wanting to send her to his tent to wait for him, but one more look at Rachel told him waiting would make it harder for her.

“Just go, Jacob.” The words were a whisper, choked out through clenched teeth. “Do this for me.”

He nodded, defeat settling over him. “For you,” he said, knowing he could not deny her.

He gripped Bilhah’s hand. “Come,” he said, though he knew she would do so without a word from him. She had obeyed every command given her since she was a small child. Her need for daily bread had assured her quick obedience.

He led her into the tent, knowing he should speak to her, should help her to understand what he was about to do. But the words would not come past the pain in his heart.

The next day Rachel met Bilhah already working the millstone, her expression unreadable. There would be no bridal week for her, and Rachel felt a stab of guilt and a certain sense of compassion that she was a wife now, yet so denied. She had thought to consult Jacob on the matter, to suggest he give Bilhah more than was required, but he had already left his tent and gone to the fields before she had arisen. Did he resent this new wife so much then?

She sat beside Bilhah and scooped up the pile of flour already ground, mixed oil from a flask she carried, and worked the dough with her hands. “Did Jacob say when he would return?” she asked after a lengthy silence.

Bilhah glanced up, her face flushed beyond the normal color brought on by hard work. “He did not speak much to me, mis—that is, he got up and left before dawn.”

Birds chirped in the uncomfortable silence, mingling with the voices of Leah’s children in the distance. Rachel studied her maid—no, no longer her maid—wishing she could read the girl’s thoughts. But it would do no good to pry. Better to leave these things be.

“You will go to him again tonight,” Rachel said, hating the necessity, wanting to pull Jacob into her arms instead and listen to all that was on his heart. But Bilhah would never conceive if she was not given the chance. Few were as fertile as Leah, and Rachel could not wait for Leah to give birth and conceive again before her maid bore a child. The thought stung. How used Jacob must feel! And yet did a man really care about such things?

“He would rather have you, mistress.” Bilhah’s comment, spoken so softly yet earnestly, brought Rachel’s thoughts up sharp.

“Of course he would. But I cannot bear him children.” And she was weary of this great struggle with her sister.

“Perhaps you may. In time.”

Rachel looked toward Leah’s tent as the commotion grew louder and the children’s young voices clamored for Leah’s attention. What would it be like to be surrounded by young ones and divide her time thus?

“I pray you are right, but for now we must do things another way.” She searched the girl’s plain features, saw a flicker of pain in her light brown eyes, but it was replaced quickly by acceptance.

“I will do as you ask, mistress.” She tossed more wheat kernels onto the stone, grabbed the handle, and turned.

“Call me Rachel. You are no longer my maid in the same way.” She slapped the dough onto a board and smoothed it with the palm of her hand.

“Yes, mistress.”

Rachel sighed and shook her head. She would deal with such trivial matters another day.

Spring harvest saw abundant crops of wheat and barley, greater than her father had ever seen before, and the flocks birthed new young, all healthy and strong. Bilhah had conceived, lightening Rachel’s mood. She fussed daily, weekly over her maid, praying, hoping that the birth would be as fruitful and healthy as the flocks in Jacob’s care.

In the meantime, Leah’s pains came upon her with her fourth child, but this birth was difficult, not at all as she had experienced the first three times. Rachel rubbed Leah’s back as Suri tried to turn the child, and Farah draped cool cloths over Leah’s sweating brow.

“Don’t push yet, child. Breathe a little longer.” Suri’s soothing tone did little to ease Leah’s suffering. “I see it is another son.”

“There, see, Leah. Another son. All will be well as soon as you birth him.” Fear snaked its way through Rachel, and she wondered if she would be able to endure such agony. “Breathe,
dear sister.” Despite their struggles, she could not imagine losing Leah. Not yet. Not with so many young sons to tend. Her envy did not extend to meanness. “You must try, Leah.”

A guttural cry came from Leah’s parched lips, and Rachel startled at the stark pain of it. She sounded more like a wounded animal than a woman.

“He is turned now. There. See!” Suri’s triumphant voice broke through Rachel’s fears. “Push now, Leah. With all of your strength.”